


Killer Tea Party

by MykEsprit



Series: Dramione Delectables [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Comedy, DramioneLove Mini Fest 2018, F/M, Humor, Some attempted murder and scare tactics, light stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 13:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: You are cordially invited to Narcissa Malfoy's garden tea party, co-hosted by Hermione Granger. Refreshments will be served, but BYOBS (Bring Your Own Beekeeper Suit).





	Killer Tea Party

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.
> 
> A/N: A bit of dark humor, written for DramioneLove Mini Fest Round 3 (2018). Lots of love to my beta Katalina_Riddle and to Rzzmg for hosting the fest.

On the perfectly clipped lawn, surrounded by manicured rose bushes, a body was sprawled on the ground, inert. Mistress Narcissa stood over her victim, the offending weapon clutched in her hand.

The latter observation didn’t take Bitsy by surprise; it was hardly the most compromising position her wayward mistress had found herself in the past decade. How the body got there – and  _who_  the body belonged to – was a much more interesting story.

**ooOOoo**

“The garden is an ideal place to hold the tea party,” said Hermione Granger, war hero – although, among the House Elves in Bitsy’s circle, she was better known as a bothersome meddler.

She was certainly a thorn in Mistress Narcissa’s side, if Bitsy read her face right. Mistress looked polite enough – a life’s worth of training in high society prevented her from being outrightly rude to guests – but from the stiff way she held her neck and the upward angle of her chin, Bitsy knew she was a hair’s breadth from hexing the young woman.

It wasn’t because of what Granger had said but from the way Master Draco, nestled beside her on the loveseat, mooned over her.

Bitsy had known Master Draco his whole life, and she loved him dearly, despite his faults. He was sharp and willful, yes, but also passionate and loving underneath the steel that developed in his youth. The only people he had permitted to see past his hardened façade had been those who lived under the Manor’s roof, which included Bitsy and the other House Elves – and, most especially, his mother.

It was understandable, then, why Mistress looked so irate. That her son would lay bare his emotions in front of this woman, who by all accounts was one of The Enemy not very long ago, was difficult to watch.

That Mistress was forced to spend time with her – after being coerced by Master Draco to let her help with planning the monthly tea party – proved to be an even bigger challenge.

A full minute of silence settled over the room as Mistress seemed frozen in thought.

“Mother,” said Master Draco in an imploring tone.

Mistress Narcissa glanced around the parlor, as if assessing the immaculate ivory motif, then turned her gaze to the picture window that overlooked the garden.

Finally, she shifted her attention back to Granger and said, “Wonderful idea, dear. An outdoor venue would certainly be perfect for my next tea party. Much easier to clean up, in case of a big mess.”

Granger gave her a timid smile. It looked like Mistress responded with a similar expression, but, with the tell-tale glint in her eye, Bitsy knew better than to believe it a friendly gesture.

Her mistress was baring her teeth.

**ooOOoo**

Bitsy served them tea in the west wing drawing room. It was just Mistress Narcissa and Granger this time, and they were busy discussing plans for the party the following week.

“Please give me a quill and some parchment, Bitsy,” bid her mistress.

“Right away,” Bitsy replied – in English, of course, as the elvish dialect she spoke was too complicated for most humans to understand. Although, she heard recently from the House Elves working at the Ministry that Granger had learned their language on a conversational level.

Bitsy rolled her eyes at the thought. Just what they needed – for Granger to be able to pester them in their native tongue.

As Granger sipped her tea, Bitsy brought over the parchment and quill.

They began conferring about the menu. Mistress asked some fairly strange questions, a move Bitsy knew was just her way of probing for weakness.

“Do you have any food allergies, dear? Anything to which you’re sensitive? That will make your throat close up, or anything of the sort?”

“No,” Granger answered.

“Oh,” Mistress Narcissa said, sounding disappointed.

“I am allergic to bees, though,” she added.

“Oh!” Mistress perked up, her face brightening. She jotted it down on her parchment.

Granger looked perplexed.

“What about any illnesses? Do you have any heart problems? Would it stop if, say, something jumped out and surprised you?”

“Erm, no, my heart is working fine,” Granger replied.

“What about balance? Do you often trip over your feet? Are you considered by your friends to be clumsy? Not to be trusted with sharp objects?”

Granger looked at her quizzically. “Uh, not clumsy, no.”

“Hmm,” Mistress hummed thoughtfully. She scribbled more notes on the paper.

“I’m sorry, I thought we were working on the menu and entertainment for the tea party?”

Mistress Narcissa smiled at her. “Yes, dear. We are.”

Granger sipped her tea nervously.

**ooOOoo**

After the awkward get-together, Bitsy cleared the tea service. As she moved the tray, a piece of paper floated to the floor.

She picked up the fallen parchment. It held a list of items that included infusion of wormwood and sloth brain – potion ingredients, maybe? – but something else on the paper caught her eye. On the top of the page, the words, “Die, Granger, Die,” were written in a pretty, flourishing script. Underneath was a drawing of a woman with knives sticking out of her like needles in a pincushion.

It was a faithful likeness of Granger, with her large eyes and tight ringlets; Mistress Narcissa always had a knack for illustration.

Bitsy smiled proudly and slipped the drawing in the pocket of her apron. Such a pretty picture shouldn’t go to waste. Perhaps she’ll have it framed to hang above her bed.

**ooOOoo**

“I think your mother’s trying to kill me.”

Bitsy heard the whisper from behind the hedges and snuck around to investigate. The Granger woman hunched over on a bench, sitting next to Master Draco.

“Don’t be silly, Granger,” he said. “Mother would  _never_  do anything to harm you.”

She gave him a pointed look.

“Well, she wouldn’t  _kill_  you,” he amended.

“All right,” she said. “If your mother’s not trying to murder me, then how do you explain this?” She turned partway to the side to expose her left shoulder, which was covered in a white bandage. “Your mother  _stabbed_  me with a  _knife_.”

He winced. “It was an accident?”

“Once is an accident. Twice is intentional,” she said. “But  _three times_?!”

“The wounds don’t look terribly deep…”

She spluttered heatedly.

He bowed his head. “I’ll have a talk with her,” he mumbled.

Granger blew out an exasperated puff of air. “I’ve got to get back to this blasted tea party before she notices I’m gone.” She stood up and smoothed the skirt of her dress. “Don’t eat or drink anything she says is for me. She’s been carrying a lot of vials with her all day. I checked one out earlier, and it smelled like almonds.”

“Perhaps it’s flavored syrup?” Master Draco said in a hopeful tone.

She rolled her eyes. “Hmph! Do you know what else smells like almonds?” she asked. “Cyanide.”

He stood up and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll take care of this. Please don’t worry.”

She pursed her lips. He leaned down and kissed her until he coaxed her out of the pout.

“You mean the world to me,” he said, his voice low and tender. It brought out a slow but brilliant smile on her face. “Once I talk to her, she’ll understand.”

Granger sighed and nodded, before heading back to the party.

When she was out of sight, Master Draco sat back down on the bench and slumped over, resting his elbows on his thighs. He looked incredibly distressed and miserable, and it placed Bitsy in a conflicted predicament.

On the one hand, she fell on the hostile side of ambivalent when it came to the witch. On the other hand, Master Draco seemed to think the sun rose and set in that self-same woman. It would bring him tremendous sadness if she were to suddenly be gone from his life, and Bitsy would hate to watch her beloved Master suffer so.

She tiptoed to his side.

“Oh, Bitsy,” he said distractedly. “What is it?”

Silently, she reached into the pocket of her apron and handed him the squared parchment she scavenged. He unfolded the paper, his eyes widening as he gazed at its contents.

“Shite.”

**ooOOoo**

“Stop!” Master Draco yelled as he ran through the cluster of tables in the garden. Bitsy loped after him, pumping her legs to catch up to her Master’s long strides.

Everyone at the garden party remained fixed. Master Draco approached the two figures by the serving table near the rose bushes. Mistress Narcissa was handing a cup of tea to Granger. With her other hand, she slipped something inside the hidden pocket of her skirt.

Master Draco grabbed the bone china teacup from her steady hand. “Mother,” he hissed quietly, although in vain. The guests noticeably edged closer to eavesdrop on the conversation. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Mistress Narcissa’s blue eyes remained clear and innocent. “What do you mean, darling?”

He brought the teacup under his nose and sniffed. “What did you put in here?”

“Milk and sugar,” she responded with a dazzling grin. “Just how Miss Granger takes her tea.”

He narrowed his eyes. After a moment, he arched an eyebrow in challenge. “Nothing in here that would hurt anyone, Mother?”

“Of course not!”

He paused. “All right, then,” he said. He brought the rim of the cup to his mouth and tipped it back.

“Draco! No!” cried both Mistress and Granger. Mistress Narcissa snatched the cup too late; Master had drained its contents in one large gulp.

His skin immediately turned a shade of grey that matched the stone walls of the Manor. With a last, shuddering breath, he collapsed on the ground.

As Mistress Narcissa stared down at her son, as unmoving as a tragic Greek statue, Granger threw herself next to him on the grass. “Draco? Draco!” she yelled as she shook him violently. “DRACO!” In the next second, she jumped to her feet.

Mistress Narcissa blinked out of her reverie and stared down the vine wand now pointed at her head.

“ _What did you do_?” said Granger, her voice gritty and rough. It trembled with danger, and it reminded Bitsy of a rattlesnake’s warning.

“Miss Granger—” Mistress said in a shocked whisper.

“Fix. Him.” She pressed the point of her wand on Mistress’s forehead. “I swear, Narcissa, if you don’t bring him back, I’ll waste my first and last Unforgivable on you.”

Mistress Narcissa’s jaw fell at the proclamation. “You would go to Azkaban to avenge my son?”

“Try me,” she said as her knuckles whitened around her wand.

Mistress studied her face, perhaps trying to read between Granger’s words. Seeming satisfied with what she saw, she nodded and reached into her pocket, producing a glass vial.

“Wiggenweld potion,” she murmured as she handed it to Granger.

Granger’s wand hand fell limply at her side as she took the vial. “You dosed him with the Draught of Living Death,” she said, listlessly.

She uncapped the small phial and sunk to her knees. Gently lifting Master’s head up, she poured every last drop of the antidote in his mouth. His cheeks bloomed pink as the potion started working.

When Master Draco started coughing, Granger looked up at Mistress, whose expression settled between dazed and resigned. “What was this? A test? To see how far I’d be willing to go for your son?”

Mistress Narcissa shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “No. The potion was meant for you,” she admitted. “You were supposed to _seem_ like you were dead, and then after your funeral, I had planned to ship your body to a monastery in Tibet.” Granger’s face was filled with appalled incredulity, and Mistress waved her hand dismissively. “Once there, the monks would have woken you up,” she reasoned.

 “You—” Master Draco coughed and tried to catch his breath. “—have to stop doing that, Mother! You can’t send every woman I date to Tibet!”

“Darling—”

“No,” he said as he shakily got up to his feet. He wrapped an arm around Granger’s shoulders, both to show unity, as well as for physical support as he faced his mother. “I’m not going to stand aside and watch you bully, strong-arm, or scare her away like you did the others. Not Granger.”

Granger sniffed proudly. “As if I would have let her do that,” she said. “Face it, Malfoy: you’re stuck with me. Deranged mothers couldn’t keep me away.”

He held her closer to his side. “Do you really mean that?”

She twitched an eyebrow in his direction. “Aren’t the three holes in my shoulder proof enough?”

Master Draco rounded on his mother with a severe glare; Mistress Narcissa blushed under his gaze.

She cleared her throat. “Miss Granger,” she said. “I – well, I believe I ought to apologize for my  _accidents_  earlier.”

Granger wisely said nothing.

“I see now that you’ll do anything for my son,” she continued. “That’s all I want for him – to be with someone who will put him above everything else, as I have tried to do for him his entire life.”

She stepped closer to the brunette, who squared her shoulders. Mistress extended a hand in front of her. “And I promise, as long as you do right by my son, there will be no more of these unfortunate mishaps.”

Granger took her hand and nodded stiffly. “No more accidents,” she said in a firm tone.

Master Draco’s smile was pure relief. “Wonderful!” he said. He turned to the serving table next to him, spying a large, three-tiered cake. “Let’s celebrate this truce, shall we?” He picked up a knife and started carving out a large slice.

The two women were still shaking hands, slowly warming up to each other, and were not paying attention to what Master was doing.

“What’s that humming noise?” he murmured to himself as he took out the great chunk of cake.

Bitsy belatedly remembered the special surprise Mistress had asked her to put inside the hollow cake.

“Wait, Master—” she said, but her words were drowned by loud buzzing and a surprised yelp.

“ _Mother_ _!_ ” Master Draco cried as he ran through the garden, a swarm of angry bees trailing close behind.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Comments/Kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Prompt: 15 - “Tea party” - Hermione wants to impress her boyfriend's mother by offering to help her plan her monthly tea party. Narcissa accepts, but only so that she can execute her plan she lovingly calls "Die Granger die!".


End file.
